Dream About Me.

This isn't going to be lengthy.

I genuinely loathe going to the doctor.
Today was positively traumatizing. I'm sitting here, in shambles. I feel like I've vomited, but I haven't. I'm fear-stricken. I'm numb and lifeless and uncomfortable. Shaky and confused. It was a routine examination.

Crows are amazing. Crows are one of only three types of animals who talk to each other. They have a different voice for their family than for their friends. They can recognize a face for two years, and if threatened by the person, warn surrounding crows about the danger, and even generations following. I really like crows. I wish we had crows in El Paso.

I miss the black horse at the Jovi pasture. I saw him last night, he's such a darling. I think I'll call him Indigo. I've never seen a horse so love starved. He always puts up with me when I romp over to him, intoxicated, and pat him too roughly and speak too loudly in his teardrop shaped ears. Horses have sad eyes, and apparently I do too.

This post isn't about anything. I could write about a lot of things, but I'd rather not, nothing I blither is worth the trouble.

On a last note, I'm reading The House of Leaves. It's engrossing, consuming, captivating, mind blowing, and all other synonyms for the word. Also, it's goddamn frightening. I was reading in class today, and as I was staring out into space, with chills, in numbing reflection of a passage I had just read, someone took it upon themselves to pinch me from behind. I was shaking with terror, with clammy hands and frustrated breathing. This is a damn good book.

I lied. This wasn't a short entry. I'm a liar, another reason I'm not a good person.

-Tchus.

My Head is Blank.

I'm starting to really feel awful. I need Christmas break to come. I want to go somewhere with Katrina Castro, maybe not come back. If you need to know anything it's that, in the grand scheme of things, you will never compare to Katrina Castro.

Never.

I've been feeling my heartbeat in my stomach. It's loud, it hasn't gone away. It almost hurts a little bit. This isn't a metaphor for anything, it's a genuine, physical feeling I've been experiencing. Actually, it hurts a lot. Ouch. Who knew a heartbeat could twist and knot a gut so badly? The heart is my least favourite organ. It's so omnipresent. You always feel it at the worst of times, and it makes bad times even more so by picking those times when you want to pull a blank face and act alright, to lodge itself in your throat so every time you speak nothing comes out but wavering whispers that make people think you're about to cry. I don't cry.

So I ate a piece of bread, mainly because Starshine was worried because I confessed to him the last time I had eaten something. He gave me an ultimatum, eat right then or he wasn't speaking to me.

Starshine is a great friend, I love him to death. Hear that Star? I love you. Sincerely, your Sunshine.

The bread is burning in my throat, and my stomach feels rawer than before. It's hollow like a cave, and in the corner, is that little beating heart on the cold wet floor, like I mentioned earlier, beating in my stomach and causing all sorts of upsets.

I'm not trying to whine, I feel as if I am. I'm just explaining exactly how I feel at this precise and exact moment, without filtering any thoughts. Still, it sounds like whining. I whine a lot, I'm doomed to whine forever. No one wants to be around someone who whines.

My deep and utter hatred for Jeep Liberties has been increasing rather quickly. Every time I see one I feel my tonsils fall like heavy little balls of lead to the pit of my stomach. Then I curse. I curse them into oblivion. Awful vehicles.

My art class isn't an art class. Mr.Valadez said I couldn't paint my jellyfish hot pink and orange, and I couldn't put it in outer space because it isn't realistic. I asked him who on Earth said art was supposed to be realistic. He told me to paint it underwater or I'd get points dropped. Well I'll paint it underwater, and he may think the jellyfish is underwater, but it's really underwater on a distant planet where jellyfish are kings and can bend minds.

Take that, reality.


I don't feel like writing anymore, I don't feel like anything anymore.
I'm sorry to announce I've become a wall, like the ones I've been speaking to lately.

Bis später,
Summer

Echo me, Astronaut.

There's a hole in my wall. Strange, it looks as if the doorknob made it, but there's a door-stopper on the baseboard. Perhaps it was put there after the hole was made, but what good would it do if there was already a hole in the first place? It bothers me. Through my peripheral vision it looks like a fat black spider, with its legs all curled under it, waiting for someone (probably myself) to let their hand linger a little too close, let their fingers get dangerously near to eight, shiny black eyes, and two, bloated pincers. Then of course, it'd bite and I'd be more scared than hurt. I'd jerk back, natural instinct of course. And the spider would fall, and crawl into a dark corner, and it'd hide there till the night, when it'd creep out for its delightful revenge.

Then I remember it's just a hole in the wall.

This room has no furniture, it looks too small for it anyway. Currently, it's a room with one actual bed, one camp-bed, and vinyl, wood patterned floors. She said it was real hardwood before we moved in, but she confessed later it was just vinyl. Vinyl wood floors feel like a lie. It looks like hardwood, but it was really just a roll of plastic material that a sweaty, smelly man rolled onto the floor. I guess what I'm trying to say is that vinyl floors have no integrity.

in·teg·ri·ty   
[in-teg-ri-tee]
–noun
1. Adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.

I feel like these vinyl floors.


Semi colons are my favourite form of punctuation, but I'll admit, I have never used one correctly, unless Microsoft Word corrects my imperfect grammar and suggests I use one. If I was a word, would I be incorrect? Would I have a red squiggle underneath me, and if you right-clicked, what would be a better alternative to have instead of me? I wish I could right-click and fix a lot of things. Or ctrl-x all my problems away.

I should end this ramble with something that actually matters, or even makes a little bit of sense. But instead I'll end this on my current thought of this exact moment:

Mark Linkous, the world misses you, or at least I do.
YOU are worth hundreds of sparrows.

The Hawks Alight Till Morning

I buried a sparrow today.
Even though she wasn't breathing and her little neck would flop at the slightest movement, I was still deathly scared that she might still be alive. I swear I heard her chirp. I lifted her little body and wrapped it carefully in a paper towel, for want of a better burial shroud. With a rusty trowel I dug a small hole outside, under my window, with marbled orange river rocks for a headstone.

In my mind I call her Maybe.

"Maybe sparrow, it's too late." -Neko Case

Being buried alive must be the most awful way to die. You're trapped and there really is no way out. The walls close in and you're suffocating as you use up your last breaths of air. Sometimes being in this city is like being buried alive.

Notice: Sometimes being in this city is like being buried alive. More often than not, I love EL Paso.

I once said I didn't believe in coincidence, but they've been happening so frequently lately that I have to refute that statement. Maybe it's a sign from the universe, but it's disproved the last shred of faith I had in fate. I don't like the idea of fate. In my heart, I feel like the universe is telling my that my reality is malleable. Someone told me that, but I can't remember who.

Sorry, someone.

My fingers have frozen to the alphabet keys and it's occurred to me I am no longer making any sense or being the slightest bit entertaining.

Adieu.

P.S. I stopped biting my nails, just thought you should know.

Eyes on a Crack in the Door

I'm really going to miss polar bears.

http://www.projectthinice.org/

Let's save the polar bear.
I think we should try and figure out something to do about it El Paso kids.

That's it.
I have nothing else to say.

Oh wait, maybe, FREE TIBET.


P.S. I'm aware I'm going to be called a hipster for this. Don't care, just wanna save the polar bear.

P.P.S. Also, the 'o' key on my laptop is sticking slightly. It's incredibly frustrating.

And Heaven Will Smell Like The Airport.

I wish everything was spelled out easily, everything was exactly what it seemed, nothing more. I wish I could close my eyes, and dull sound as well as sight. (Just now, when I thought the words, "I wish I could close my eyes-" the lyrics, "close your eyes-" were sung in this song I have never heard before, scout's honour. I don't believe in coincidence, but apparently I run into them.) I wish I could read minds. I wish for world peace.

A wish is a prayer you have no faith in.


I have nothing even remotely interesting to say anymore. My brain has been obliterated. God damn you Facebook.

By

using

spaces

I

can

make

it

seem

like

I'm

writing

much

more

than

I

really

am.



I'm going to watch South Park.

Post-script: This is Barack Obama when he was in college.


Post-post-script:
I'll never be that cool.

^I was typing this, then.^

I suggest documenting it, because someday it could be a DOUBLE JEOPARDY question. That is, if Trebek is still alive by the time my internet fame skyrockets. I would sue the shit out of Channel 4 television if they even thought about replacing Alex with anybody else. I'm not even sure why the thought makes me so defensive, I have no thoughts on that whitetoothed reality show host. He certainly never changed my life. Maybe I'm just feeling defensive for those thirteen Alex Trebek fans who would become frantic.

I think that's called empathy.

This girl tried to steal my bracelet. Actually, she did. She has had it for a week and I didn't even notice 'til another friend decided to point it out. I guess I don't really find wrist ornaments all that important. Earrings either. Damn these sensitive lobes. I do enjoy necklaces. I think it's because they're the only piece of jewelry that doesn't feel it must constantly you remind yourself of it's presence. Damn dangling earrings swing around, flicking at my neck all day. And those bracelets, tinkling ostentatiously every time you set your hand on the table. Palm down, palm up, in a fist, you always hear those clicking charms or clashing loops.

Don't even get me started on rings.

I'm only writing another paragraph because jewelry is such an unappealing topic to end on. This might very well be equally as unappealing, but at least I can say I tried. My brain's interesting topic file is mysteriously missing at the moment. Oh, today I discovered with a friend, that the glass doors of our favourite sandwich shop are not in fact, one way. And now I'm recalling all the people we've gawked at and all the funny faces and gestures we've performed, and how many window shoppers we inadvertently entertained.

I guess these are the three most interesting things about my day.

Sentence from my day: "I love the word sprinkle."

I stole this day, which is why it's mine. I will sell you 06/02/2010 for a small fee and some Yoplait yogurt.